In one of her past lives, BUTCH was none other than Michel de Nostredame (1503-1566), better known as Nostradamus. As her mind is not clouded by the errant fancies of human existence, she clearly remembers the methods employed almost five hundred years ago to produce the now-famous Quatrains, which purport to predict future events.

As before, water-gazing plays a principal role in BUTCH's prognosticatory techniques, although she is now relegated to entering a trance in the basin of water provided by, of course, That Which Provides Water and Changes the Newspaper. Ripples caused by her involuntary shamanic twitches are interpreted according to a complicated table of correspondences and then rendered into human language by That Which Provides Food, who has been collecting these quatrains for over a decade.

Please do not underestimate the power of these short stanzas. This is not a parlor game.

In the eagle's land none shall be worthy

To clutch the arrows and olive branch in the white nest.

Green paper shall line it as well as dung

In 2000, 2004, 2008, 2012, et cetera.

Pugit's son, the loud hurt one,

Loses his face by his own hand.

The roaring removes the big-haired ones

And courtly love shall be his bride.

A maid shall drop to her knees

And bring a nation along with her.

The chief is pleased, then the chief is not pleased.

A bad man but not as bad as his enemies.

.

Children will find the monsters everywhere

Not just in their purses or clothes;

The parents will scatter silver

And the monsters will gather gold.

Big man, no hair, a grappler and fighter

Striding amidst feathers shall leave one work

To take up another, a work of state.

Honest, he shall frighten the rest of the liars.

In 2006 the Lamb returns

Crowned in blood and fire, hurtling from heaven.

Horror as he blesses those called sinners,

And plunges the starchy ones in Hell.

Hops and vine shall bow to the plant

Once strong as rope, now light as smiles

And hated for that by foolish princes.

In 2012 the prison bars dissolve in smoke.

Ronald Reagan sucks.

I repeat,

Ronald Reagan

sucks.

Ronald Reagan sucks.

If you voted for him,

What was I saying?

She stoops to conquer

In Philip's isles

And finds that shoes

Are her only sanctuary.

The people sit before the boxes

Full of dolls and letters

Talking to each other

In empty rooms.

Gored by the ram

Or scratched by the twig?

The people are perplexed,

And the high ones choose the nadir.

Woe unto the star and moon

That share the same sky

But cannot share the land beneath.

God shall take it from them both.

© 2001 Gregor Everitt